


What He Believed in.

by Joanne_c



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Minor mention of canon relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/pseuds/Joanne_c
Summary: "What do you believe in?" Guinevere had asked. Lancelot only believed in one thing. Arthur.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



“What do you believe in?” she’d asked. Lancelot kept his watch, grimacing as the rain fell. He should have answered her, probably, Guinevere was a kind and brave woman, and he liked her. In another world, he could have more than liked her, but it was clear to him that she and Arthur were close to courting, if they weren’t already there, and Lancelot would never presume to take something that was Arthur’s.

He cared for Arthur far too much for that. Even as a young boy, sent from his home to defend England, he’d known there were good leaders and bad leaders. He’d served under more than one of the latter, and had pledged his allegiance to Arthur because he had seen him to be a good leader. It turned out he was more than that, he was worthy, in Lancelot’s estimation, of his undying love and loyalty.

So it was not for Lancelot to wish he could court Guinevere. To love her from afar? That might be possible, but he suspected it would fade quickly, especially if he met another lady. Though a part of his mind whispered that there was no lady to compare to Guinevere, he shut that part down, pushing it away. He would not allow himself to think that way.

There were other things, too. Keeping watch for the Roman soldiers. The rain didn’t help, even under shelter it seemed to aim for him and soak his hair as well as the rest of him.

Even when the rain stopped, he was cold and drew his cloak around him. Instead of focusing on Guinevere, he thought of the next rest break, there would be a tavern and hopefully a willing woman or two to prevent him doing something that would hurt Arthur.

He drew into himself, working as hard as ever to help Arthur, still joking with the men, particularly Galahad, who shared much in common with him. He had given the lad his first drink, many moons ago now, though he hadn’t let him overindulge. That would come later, mourning death or celebrating life, or as often happened, both. Still, he’d taught the lad to hold it fairly well, giving him a second drink soon after. It helped to spend time with the quiet Tristan as well, talk a little of how the hawk would scout for them even more, he was sure Tristan could speak to the bird, though he had no idea how he understood its signals and sounds, but then Lancelot hadn’t been brought up that way, and it was told the people of Tristan’s village had abilities they passed down from father to son. Still, he would never really understand how it worked. Lancelot tended to think of animals as only pets or beasts of burden, perhaps of war in the case of horses.

He did prefer the swordplay practice of the long stretches of nothing threatening happening, to the brutal and violent encounters with Romans and some other races who saw riding across their land as some kind of violation. To Lancelot, if the straight path took them through woods or over unused grass, that was the path to take, but there were all kinds of superstition and taboo in some villages and even, sadly to Lancelot who thought of himself as informed, in larger settlements. Still, as the Knights Of The Round Table, while they may have shaken their heads at others’ beliefs, they accepted that they were important to those people. Even if some seemed very strange to Lancelot, he supposed his own rituals and worship would seem strange to them in turn.

He worked his sword, alone and sparring with Galahad or Tristan, polished it every night and lay it beside him to lift for defence during the night, slid it into its scabbard every morning before mounting his horse. Arthur often praised him for it, and if one of the others neglected his sword, he would direct them to observe Lancelot and follow his example.

It was the times he got to talk alone with Arthur that he liked best, though. Hours spent polishing armour, oiling leather, both saddle and boots, conversing about how the knights were adapting and adjusting, talk of their latest quest, it was easy for them to get lost in a conversation until the sky darkened or lightened and they knew hours had passed. Lancelot never tried to keep Arthur longer, but they found so much to talk about , even if it felt like they were talking about nothing.

Arthur’s leadership was strong, and Lancelot never felt wrong for choosing to follow him. He had conversations with other bands of men, and the other knights, and he knew he was with the right leader, the right man to believe in. He knew his life was Arthur’s, in every way. He would remain loyal to Arthur beyond death.

He even unobtrusively made opportunities for Guinevere and Arthur to be alone, to travel together on the road, with him as escort. It might cause a twinge in his chest, but he knew it was the right thing for them, and he knew he was the best guard they had, so he was the one to escort them and make sure they were comfortable, at least as much as they could be while travelling.

Even as they set down for the night, Lancelot would make sure that when they wanted to have time together, that they were placed next to each other, and that they had comfortable quarters. Arthur would rest a hand on his shoulder and thank him and Lancelot would nod. Guinevere would take his hand and do the same and he would kiss it in a courtly gesture in acknowledgement, then leave them alone and settle on the other side of the fire with the other knights.

Even on what he didn’t know would be his last day, he spoke to Arthur, reminded himself again that Guinevere would be married to Arthur, and worked on his armour and sword, after giving his horse a good and thorough grooming. It was louder, more difficult to perceive, and he almost didn’t feel the sword pierce his flesh.

He continued to fight, unknowingly making the victory for Arthur easier by his never ceasing, but all too soon, the pain stopped him. He knew, though, when the pain ceased, it was a bad sign, not a good one, and he could feel the cold slide over him, slowly. He caught the cries of denial of his fellows, but knew he was lost, and they didn’t come to him because they knew, too.

He did know that Guinevere was there, at the last, and murmured Arthur’s name. Even as he died, Lancelot believed in one thing. Arthur.


End file.
